


Silk and Things Half Said

by gala_apples



Series: Get Glee Laid [10]
Category: Glee
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Clothing Kink, F/F, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:23:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sylvester gets Mr Schue brought down because they accepted the mattresses, Mercedes won’t fall on the sword, even though it was her fault. As far as she sees it, she’s already paid her price. Thanks to that store and those mattresses her sexuality is forever skewed.</p><p>Set during 1x12 -Mattress</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silk and Things Half Said

Mattressland is big enough that it has separate male and female bathrooms, not just a customer bathroom. It’s not a restaurant, there aren’t multiple stalls, just a room just barely legally big enough to fit a wheelchair into. Mercedes highly doubts all six of the guys will fit into the mens at the same time. On the other hand, even if they could they probably wouldn’t. As much as her boy might want it, Mercedes can’t see Finn willingly changing in a stall with Kurt. Girls are different though. For all that Santana and Brittany are perfect and Rachel and Quinn have body issues, none of them hesitate to change.

The routine goes well. They brainstormed it in the Glee room and worked out a few last kinks over conference call while carpooling. It only takes them three takes -with ten minute breaks in between so some can catch their breath and others can stop feeling dizzy from the backflips- before the store owner and the yearbook guy call it a wrap. 

After, as everyone else heads for the bathrooms to put their street clothes back on, Kurt puts his hand on Mercedes’s shoulder. She doesn’t have time to question him before he explains that he held her back so they can get compensated. He’s right, of course. Rachel might have set this opportunity up, but she and Kurt are the ones that know what something is worth.

Their bottom line is that Mr Weston won’t pay them in cash, but that they’ll get eight mattresses shipped to the neutral location of William McKinley. It’s not one for each of them, but Rachel’s probably got some posture perfecting memory foam one, and Quinn probably sleeps in a chaste white queen bed with a canopy. It’s a lot better than nothing.

By the time Mercedes is entering the girl’s bathroom it’s just her and Santana. And Santana’s boobs, which really seem like a third party. Changing etiquette from a decade of sleepovers and gym class and after school lessons says Mercedes shouldn’t say anything, but the question just slips out. 

“Why’d you take your bra off before your shirt?” Mercedes has had a few occasions where she’s needed to do the unhook then slide down the arm hole thing, but this doesn’t fit the criteria.

“I didn’t. I wasn’t wearing one.”

“The whole time?”

Santana shrugs, then shudders. Mercedes thinks it might have something to do with the rustle of the silk pyjamas on her skin, except for how she’s not thinking about how Santana feels about _anything_. It’s not her business. Mercedes shakes her head to get her brain back into line, and decides a little bit of righteousness will complete the fix.

“That’s messed up Santana. This performance was being filmed. If your, you know, got hard because of the air conditioning it could have shown.”

“One, we were jumping like crazy, too quick to get a nipple shot. Two, I don’t care.”

And yes, the jumping! What about the jumping? “What if you’d jumped and the top had slipped up?”

Santana shakes her head. She looks different with her hair down. “Again, a dose of facts. Half the glee club have already seen my boobs, and then there’s Hummel. Two, it’s not like it would get on tv. They wanted a commercial, not porn. Three. I don’t care. I’m not a prude. I know how to enjoy my body.”

“I’m not a prude either!”

“I know you’re a virgin. Have you ever even gotten off? Masturbation is a sin, right?”

Mercedes swallows. “You can’t take everything literally. People shouldn’t get stoned to death, selling your daughters is bad.”

“Great, so you know how to come gushing. So you’re just a hypocrite, not a prude.”

“How am I-”

“Just get off your high horse for a second and feel what you’re wearing.” Mercedes’ confusion must be showing on her face, because Santana continues. “Seriously. _Feel_ it.”

Santana walks forward, shirt still open, and puts her hand on her collarbone. Mercedes jumps at the touch. Then Santana starts petting her lightly, and Mercedes doesn’t know what to do.

“I like luxury fabric. You think I’m a Cheerio just for the dancing? That uniform feels great. These pyjamas are just as good. So fuckin’ silky.”

It’s not that Mercedes is expecting Santana to kiss her. Everyone knows Santana’s lady exception is Brittany, not any other Cheerio, and especially not a girl lower on the McKinley hierarchy. Mercedes knows where she stands with all the other students, and it’s nowhere near the top. But then Santana does, and Mercedes just doesn’t react with shock and horror. She could; kissing a girl isn’t a thing she ever thought she wanted. But she doesn’t.

“I know you don’t want to go home with me. That’s okay, we can do this here.” 

Mercedes is expecting another kiss, not for Santana to drop to her knees and tug her pyjama pants and underwear down. “What are you-”

“What do you think?” It doesn’t come out as sarcastic as it could be though. 

Mercedes thinks frantically. Can she justify this? Will this compromise her faith? It’s not because she’s suddenly very aroused that she thinks no. She’s reconciled Kurt with her faith with the simple truth of God loves all his children. He made them to be what He wanted. If she’s curious, then He wanted her to experience this.

“I want this.”

“Never thought you didn’t. Come on, already, throw your leg over my shoulder.”

Mercedes’ joy and wonder crashes. She’s not Brittany. Ninety percent of the time she loves who she is - which is a pretty good number for a teenager, she thinks. But part of who she is, is large. “I’m heavy. I-”

“I’ve been bottom of the pyramid. Your one leg doesn’t equal three cheerleaders. Now leg up. I’m not spending my whole night here.”

Mercedes does what she’s told. For a second she worries about balance, then her brain dives directly into her pussy. She never thought oral could be that good, because if it was, why didn’t girls rave about it the way guys talked about blow jobs? Either every girl is crazy, or her pussy’s extra sensitive, because Santana’s been licking for five seconds and Mercedes is already positive she’ll die if Santana ever stops.

She comes, much quieter than hundreds of sex scenes in the media would have her believe is normal for a girl. Santana pulls away, somehow knowing exactly when Mercedes can feel her knees again without having to ask, and stands. She rips a few sheets of toilet paper off the roll and it takes Mercedes a moment to realise Santana’s wiping the wetness off her face because of her. It should have been obvious before Santana got the first sheet ripped, but it kind of hits her hard. Santana’s face is wet and her silk pajama shirt is still unbuttoned over her bare breasts because Mercedes just lost her virginity to a girl eating her out. The worst part is she isn’t sure what the etiquette is here. Does she have to do it back? Can she? It wouldn’t be fair if she didn’t, probably. 

“How was that?” Mercedes asks. Doing it’s obviously not as good as getting it, but if she has to return the favour she can hope it’s at least not bad.

“I’d say you should shave, but honestly it was a good change up from Brit.”

“But you didn’t...”

“Hardly. I’m not that much of a bottom. But I know you're straight. You don’t have to return the favour. It was fun though.”

Even if -even _though_ \- she’s straight it doesn’t seem fair. “I don’t know if I want to... you know. Do that. But I could touch you?”

Santana takes her up on the offer. She immediately comes in close and curls one still pyjama clad leg over Mercedes’ hip. 

“Don’t you want to-”

“I told you, I like the silk. Just rub me.”

Santana’s pussy is hot through the fabric. Mercedes doesn’t really know what she’s doing but she tries to keep touching the places that make Santana pant. She presses up and the fabric wedges into Santana and every movement after that gets double the reaction.

“The seam is right on my clit. Can you just-”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but it’s common sense, really. Mercedes rocks her hand dragging the hard line of the seam where Santana needs it the most. In the next few seconds she watches her fall apart and feels a gush of wet against her palm. Silk isn’t very absorbent; as the most well dressed of the losers who get slushied, Mercedes knows that. This fabric doesn’t have a choice though, Santana comes in a torrent.

“Do you always-” Mercedes starts as Santana backs away and finishes taking off her unbuttoned pyjama top to exchange it for her Cheerios top.

“I’m a squirter. Most boys think that’s hot. I guess it’s rare. Gives them some diversity. That or I’m ruining them for all other pussy.” She shrugs. “Not my problem.”

Santana changes into the other half of her uniform and puts the wet pants into her backpack. 

“I guess you’ll have to wash them before you return them,” Mercedes says, tacking a chuckle on the end so Santana knows that she doesn’t think the squirting thing is weird. Every girl is built differently, after all.

“Like hell am I returning these. Did you _feel_ how smooth they were?”

“The costumes aren’t ours, Santana.”

“If Manhands didn’t want me to keep a sexy outfit she shouldn’t have dressed me in it.”

Before Mercedes can say something, anything from _don’t call Rachel that_ (unlikely) to _most people don’t consider throat to fingertips to toenails sleepwear sexy_ (true, but kink shaming) to _please don’t tell anyone_ (but why give Santana ideas) to _thanks for doing this with me_ (too pathetic, maybe?) Santana’s slinging her bag over her shoulder and exiting the bathroom. That leaves Mercedes alone to get changed, and to try to figure out what to do with everything that just happened.

She doesn’t take her pair of pyjamas home. She leaves them folded neatly on top of the pile that the rest of the Glee girls left on the sink. But she does take a few pictures of them, and saves the best one. Everyone needs a tangible memory of their first time, and a picture of blue silk that’ll look like abstract folds if anyone snoops is hers.


End file.
